


Faithless Lady

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/F, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 19:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18079799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: It's the morning before the debut of Il Muto, and Carlotta is handcuffed to Madame Giry's bed.





	Faithless Lady

Carlotta woke up disoriented. For the record, it was not the location that confused her. She knew exactly where she was: in Madame Giry’s bed. It was a large bed with a pine frame, bed springs that barely squeaked when put to the test, and a mattress that was not quite as nice as Carlotta’s, but doable. It was a bed in which Carlotta had slept enough times that she had stopped being embarrassed about it.

And yes, she had spent last night in this bed, at Madame Giry’s persuasions and after a few cups of wine—and it had been a rather pleasant night—so none of that disturbed her. But why on earth were her hands cuffed to the bed frame? That wasn’t usually Madame Giry’s type of game at all, and especially not in the morning. She was very no-nonsense in the morning.

She frowned, and tugged a little at the cuffs. They remained firmly in place. Of course Madame Giry had high quality supplies. With a sigh, she gathered her voice (in the morning it was never quite warmed up yet) and called out, as sweetly as she could manage, “Antoinette!”

No response.

“Antoinette!” she called again. Somehow for Madame Giry she always wanted to sound sweet, even when the woman was being trying. Perhaps because when one was cross to Madame Giry—even when one had perfectly good reasons for being so—she had a way of looking at you, so that you felt quite a toad, even if she didn’t say anything.

The door clicked open; there had been no footsteps approaching it, there never were. Madame Giry used to do backstage work and she still walked and dressed like a ghost. Because here she was, drifting towards the bed, wearing a pitch-black dress and a placid expression.

“Good morning, Carlotta,” she said. She leaned over the bed, but instead of kissing Carlotta as Carlotta expected, she checked the cuffs. She did not unlock them. When Carlotta made a small noise to get her attention, she looked down with raised eyebrows.

“Antoinette, amusing as you may find…this…” Carlotta tugged at the cuffs. “…I am needed at the opera house in only an hour, and I must begin my toilette immediately.”

“I would not worry about that,” Madame Giry said, still placid. She leaned back. “You won’t be going in today. Would you like some eggs and toast before I head out?”

“Excuse me,” Carlotta said, “you said what?”

“I’m afraid you won’t be going in today.”

Carlotta really did try to be nice and good around Madame Giry. Those looks of Madame Giry’s scalded her, besides which it was never a good thing to henpeck a lover. This, however, was more than enough—inside her chest, La Carlotta, diva extraordinaire, stretched and yawned and made her way out onto the stage of Carlotta’s tongue. “Madame, I demand you explain yourself, and let me out of these cuffs. This is an important day—I have no time for games. Today is the debut of _Il Muto_.”

“Yes,” Madame Giry said implacably. “I will inform messieurs Firmin and Andre that you are sick, and they will have to use Christine Daae instead.”

At this, Carlotta understood everything,

She could not sit up in bed without looking awkward because of the position of her manacles, but she levered her upper body enough that she could level a glare at Madame Giry. “You bitch. You betrayer! So that is why you were so friendly with me last night, after all these weeks of silence—to do the phantom’s bidding! She-devil! False friend! Delilah! You curmudgeonly, lying whore—how dare you! I’ll have you know…”

“I’m not doing the phantom’s bidding, and I’m not doing this for his sake,” Madame Giry interrupted. “This is for your own good, madame, and I’m sorry if you can’t see it that way.”

“It is for my own good _how_ that I miss the debut of an important show? The opening night of a show I have been rehearsing for weeks?” Her volume had raised, her pitch had raised, but her voice had not broken; this was a relief because Carlotta’s voice was not at its strongest before she had had any breakfast or tea. She was careful to modulate her tone: Anger, but no distress, was key here. “I beg you, madame, explain yourself to me, because I really cannot imagine how you can possibly have reached that conclusion.”

Madame Giry folded her arms. “I am trying to save you from your own idiocy.”

“Idi—”

“I have seen the notes you have received, Carlotta; there’s not a person at the opera house who hasn’t. Months and months of warnings, and you’ve ignored every single one. The phantom isn’t likely to issue warnings when he’s not going to follow through. I will not see you risking your life for the sake of your own stubborn, pig-headed pride. I will not stand backstage and watch you get yourself killed!”

“If the phantom wishes to take a shot at me, he’s welcome to do so! Do you think I’ve never received any threats over the years? Admirers, jealous rivals, every kind of rogue I’ve dealt with, and I’ve never needed any help of this kind. Now if you’d give information on the phantom or help us to destroy the little pest, I’d welcome your aid, but this, this is quite unacceptable. I demand you release me.”

They glared at each other.

Madame Giry lifted her chin. “You are not in the position to demand anything, primadonna.”

“I’ll have you fired!”

“As you said, I am quite willing to see you take your shot.” Madame Giry really only sounded amused now. “Messieurs Firmin and Andre may value you, but they’re not such fools as to fire their ballet director halfway through the season. And they know my value, too—well enough that I don’t need to flaunt it in their faces.”

Carlotta gritted her teeth. “We’ll see about that. And if they do nothing, I’ll have you arrested.”

“We’ll see about that,” Madame Giry echoed. “But I should be going. Do you want the eggs and toast before I go, or not?”

“Don’t think I’ll forgive you because you feed me,” Carlotta said, “but if you leave without feeding me, I will not only have you arrested, I will see you guillotined.”

Madame Giry snorted. This was the only noise she made as she floated away, returning moments later with the promised eggs and toast.

In her brief absence, Carlotta had come up with a possible plan. She whined for a little while about not being able to eat with cuffs on—which was true—and about Madame Giry needing to hand feed her. Madame Giry was prepared for this; she sat down on the edge of the bed. Here the real plan began.

When Madame Giry stuck a forkful of egg in Carlotta’s mouth, she sucked on the fork and twirled her tongue around the bottom of it, making hard eye contact with Madame Giry. Madame Giry pursed her lips. She withdrew the fork and offered Carlotta a sip of tea, which she always made just as Carlotta liked it: A bit too strong, one teaspoon of sugar, no cream. Carlotta swallowed slowly and heavily. She did not break eye contact.

Madame Giry said, after a couple minutes of this, “Are you trying to seduce me, primadonna?”

“If you have to ask,” Carlotta said tartly, “then my attempt is clearly failing. Que verguenza, when your own lover is willing to handcuff you for a madman’s convenience, and hasn’t the slightest interest in—”

Madame Giry set down the meal things and leaned over Carlotta and kissed her.

Carlotta kissed back, slowly but enticingly. If her hands were free, she would have been using them to search Madame Giry’s pockets for the keys to the cuffs—as it was, she mostly hoped to put Madame Giry in a more malleable mood. Make her reconsider how ridiculous she was being.

However, Madame Giry pulled back after only the briefest interlude. “I won’t be back until after noon, Carlotta, so if you want any food, it would be better not to distract me.”

Carlotta sighed. “Very well. Feed me, if that’s all you’re willing to do. You’re a traitor and a wretch in every way. I hope you relish this day—you will certainly never have me in your bed again.”

“If I may save your life,” Madame Giry said, “I do not care about any of that. There are some things that matter to me more than pleasure, primadonna. Even more than your esteem.”

Their eyes met, and while Carlotta had not flinched today before Madame Giry’s resolve, there was something intimidating now about the hint of tenderness as she offered Carlotta the toast. It cropped up, sometimes, this tenderness. It wasn’t what had attracted Carlotta to her at first, not at all, and it wasn’t the daily bread of their relationship, to the extent that they even had a relationship—but it cropped up sometimes.

When Madame Giry was gone, Carlotta considered the possibilities. She wasn’t going to dislocate her wrist or break a thumb for something like getting out of these cuffs, and frankly she wasn’t sure she’d even be able to if she tried. She could make some noise and hope someone broke down the door to help her, but she and Madame Giry had had their share of fights in here, and no one had ever seemed bothered by her screaming before. In fact, she would probably have to wait…

It was then that she noted a shadow at the window, and as the figure crept through and into the room, she really did scream. And, as expected, nobody noticed—except for the shadowy, masked figure, who only tilted his head. The phantom in the flesh.

“Did she really handcuff you to the bed?” The phantom’s voice was as acerbic and low in person as it was echoing through the Opera Populaire at inconvenient moments during rehearsal. “My, my… Madame Giry has unplumbed depths, it seems.”

Carlotta was deeply aware of her state of undress; she was wearing no more than a flimsy nightgown, and her hair was down. She tried not to let her awkwardness show. Again she wished she could fully sit up. But she said, “Your servant, monsieur—I suppose you should know what sort of woman you employ.”

The phantom chuckled. He walked around the bed and, while Carlotta lay rigidly still, picked the lock of the handcuffs. They released, and he eased them off her wrists before casually pocketing them. “These might come in handy.”

Carlotta stood up at last, and fetched a robe off the floor. Now better dressed, she faced the phantom squarely. “Why would you release me, monsieur?”

“Why, primadonna, we’re putting on a show tonight.” The phantom’s voice was lighter now, almost genial. “And if you remember correctly, you are to play the page. You do remember, don’t you?”

He lifted a hand, almost touched her chin… Then pulled away. “We’ll see. Adieu, primadonna.”

His exit was rather cut by the fact that he climbed out the window again, which was less mysterious in broad daylight. Carlotta watched him disappear down the street. This certainly was a bad neighborhood—Madame Giry ought to move elsewhere—not that Carlotta would waste time worrying about that bitch anymore…

She hurried off to put up her hair and do some quick makeup. She had arrived late before; no one would think it unusual. No one would have to know about this morning. Not that she would cover for Madame Giry, but it would be rather embarrassing. Better, maybe, to have something to hold over that woman’s head. She would go to the opera house and warm up, and the show could go on as planned.

Though she shivered as she thought of the phantom’s mocking voice. She couldn’t play the page; she wouldn’t stand to be intimidated. Not into staying away, and not into staying out of her proper place, front and center, the object of everyone’s adoration. She’d fought for this life—the danger didn’t matter.

Madame Giry and the phantom could both go to hell.

**Author's Note:**

> (Idk where I got the headcanon that Madame Giry's first name is Antoinette. Probably a fanfic. If it was you, thanks dude.)  
> I think I caught actual Madame Giry/Carlotta feels writing this and I hate myself, this is not even niche, this is actual crack. BUT THE FEELS. Okay but anyways this fic was written bc it's my 250th fic posted to AO3, and for that reason I wanted to write something on-brand, which was gonna be either a) POTO, b) the tiniest fandom ever, c) femslash, or d) kidnapping. This is kiiiind of all four if you take rarepair instead of small fandom, which means it is VERY ON BRAND. So I hope you enjoyed this small celebration.  
> Comments would be much appreciated! Or come chill with me on tumblr at convenientalias.


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